Revenge
by live.in.books
Summary: There aren't many Sherlock fanfics with actual crimes so I decided to write one. This is my first fic so please read! Anderson is accused of murder and only Sherlock can find the truth. But will his grudge of Anderson make him take revenge instead? No Johnlock romance, but I'm hoping to develop it into something quite sweet. Please read past the first chapter it gets much better!
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock was slumped on the couch, bored, and with a destructive gleam in his eyes. It had been 3 weeks since the last case, despite daily offers from Lestrade and a whole host of visitors. John could remember them all clearly. A dead father, a lost dog, theft, stalkers, murder… Each had been waved away with a listless 'dull' from Sherlock. So now, he was facing the wall, refusing even to see new clients because he didn't want to be disappointed again.

The phone beeped. Sherlock didn't move. Neither did John. After all, he reasoned, Sherlock can answer his own blasted phone. It beeped again. Insistent, demanding to be answered. John relented, and opened the message from Lestrade. It was concise, only six words, but it was enough to spark John's, and hopefully Sherlock's interest. _Murder at station. Anderson suspected. Help._

'Oi Sherlock' John called, 'How do you feel about annoying Anderson?'

'Why?'

'He's gone and made himself a murder suspect.'

Sherlock immediately raised himself from his couch fortress. His eyes were alight, not just with the thrill of the chase, but also with a malicious gleam that only came from frustrating his 'rival'. He grabbed his scarf, turned up his coat collar and grinned at John.

'Coming? Time to give the prick exactly what he deserves.'

John smiled back. Not only was this case perfect timing, it was always good to see Sherlock win one over Anderson. The forensic scientist was arrogant, rude, insulting and not to mention completely unobservant. He was also protected by his job, which made it very difficult for Sherlock to give him his dues.


	2. Chapter 2

When Sherlock and John pulled up to the station, a scene of pure chaos greeted them. All of the employees were corralled in a room, waiting to be interviewed. Only those in Lestrade's team were moving freely, and they were desperately trying to find some evidence that would acquit their colleague.

Lestrade was receiving a report from one of his detectives when he spotted Sherlock. He quickly cut the man off and hurried over to debrief Sherlock.

'Look', he said, with a stressed undertone to his voice, 'I know that you will want to taunt Anderson and lock him behind bars for life, but I need you to please, please, investigate this and tell the truth.' Sherlock looked at Lestrade sharply, but then dipped his head into a nod. Seeing this, Lestrade continued his tale, seeming slightly reassured but still worried. 'The body was found in the janitor's closet. It's still there. Anderson was the one who discovered it, said he could smell it, but the body had only been dead 4 hours and it still doesn't smell of rotting meat. Rigor mortis was just setting in. The man was called Rob Martin, and had just started working here as a forensic scientist. He was rising quickly, which is a possible motive. Anyway, he is currently in the morgue if you want to check it out and you have a date with Anderson in two hours. Until then, you have a free rein to look around and shed some light on this.'

Sherlock strode off without another word, leaving Lestrade looking back at him hopefully. John also walked towards the building and crime scene, when he saw Donovan out of the corner of his eye. He grinned again, as he saw the perfect opportunity to rile another of Sherlock's haters.

'Be there soon Sherlock!' he called, and received a raised hand in reply.

Donovan had clearly been expecting this, ever since John had caught eyes with her. She had walked over, possibly to position herself closer to Lestrade, who could stop the brunt of John's attack. Lestrade however, walked away to continue interviewing the many workers.

'Donovan, how are you feeling? It must be hard, since you and Anderson were so close.' asked John, with a slightly mocking tone.

'Oh, I'm just fine, and Anderson will be too. He's innocent, you know.'

'But surely you can see what's happened, Donovan. Anderson likes his job. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? Today just showing up wasn't enough. Today we are standing around a body and Anderson was the one who put it there.' Donovan stared with hatred at John, but had nothing to say in reply. She merely stared at him, before walking off. John smiled again, feeling that he was doing it far too often for a crime scene, but he couldn't help himself. Revenge, he thought, is sweet.


	3. Chapter 3

When John entered the building he went straight to the janitor's closet, but to his surprise, Sherlock wasn't there. He looked around, puzzled. Sherlock always started by looking at the scene and then the body, so that no one else had time to disturb any evidence. It seemed to John, that Sherlock was so keen to discredit Anderson, he was breaking his own protocol and was biased before he even began to investigate. Sherlock had always maintained that he kept all options open, and considered all possibilities. Apparently, not this time.

John headed back down the elevator, wondering if there would be a taxi that he could take to the morgue, and hopefully to Sherlock. But, as he stepped out of the elevator, something was suddenley shoved into his chest. John looked up, prepared for anything, but to his relief it was just Sherlock looking down at him impatiently.

'What took you so long?' Sherlock asked in an annoyed tone. 'I need you to hold this while I do something.' John looked down at the object in his hands, and recognised it as a tape measure. He held it steady as Sherlock measured the distance between the lift and the carpark that was just outside the front doors.

'30 meters John! Remember that for me', called Sherlock as he re-entered the building. John nodded, pleased that Sherlock was trusting him, but knowing that Sherlock would remember the distance far better than himself.

The pair went up to the third floor, where both the janitor's closet, and Rob Martin's desk were situated. Sherlock took some more, seemingly irrelevant measurements. 45 meters from the janitor's closet to the office. 10 meters from the office to the lift entrance.

'Interesting' muttered Sherlock to himself, 'either our murderer is not the sharpest tool in the shed, or he is very, very cunning.' John was baffled by Sherlock's actions. Rob Martin had been killed in his office, and hidden in closet. That much was hardly suspicious. It seemed the logical thing to do.

Sherlock then continued his investigation with the janitor's closet, which seemed to be exactly how Sherlock had expected. He spent only 10 minutes going over it, collecting just a scrap of cloth, a swab from some spilt cleaning products that were on the floor and a half empty bottle of bleach. There was only a little disturbance in the closet, as the body had been hidden in it, not killed.

'Nothing else of interest here' Sherlock remarked to John, 'time to head to Rob's office, don't you think?'

Lestrade was waiting for them when they entered Rob's old office, which consisted of a desk, a plush chair and a large filing cabinet, that was unlocked.

'Any ideas?' asked Lestrade hopefully, despite knowing full well that Sherlock never said anything unless he was ready.

'Seven. But I need to check a few things before I can prove or reject them. Now, are any documents missing from that filing cabinet, what was the latest case Martin was working on, where did he work before here, and I want to talk to cleaners and anyone else who was here last night.' Lestrade frowned.

'Seven ideas? That seems like a lot. Shouldn't you narrow it down a little? I can have some people check the filing cabinet, but there is no sure way of knowing exactly what should have been in there. The latest case I can help you with. It's a stock standard murder and Martin was in the middle of investigating it. I can get you the brief and his notes on it later. No one was here last night, even the cleaners have corroborated alibis. Furthermore no one was supposed to be here last night. It's not unusual for someone to pull an all-nighter working on a case, but Martin shouldn't have needed to do it, because his case was so simple.'

'Thank you Lestrade. That will be all for now.'

Sherlock immediately set about inspecting every inch of the office, while Lestrade cleared everyone out, so that Sherlock could have a free space. Firstly, Sherlock checked the filing cabinet, but there were no signs that someone had forced their way in, or had looked at any files. There were no footprints on the ground, the chair provided no clues and neither did the walls, door or window. Clearly the murderer had just walked right in without having to force anything.

The desk, however was another matter. Martin was clearly not a tidy man, his desk was cluttered and messy, but there was a blank spot in the middle, where you would normally do your work.

'Well John, Martin was clearly doing some paperwork when he died. Something to do with his case? Probably. Are the papers still here? Doubtful. Help me find them, but don't touch anything if you can avoid it!' John nodded, and together they scoured the room for a sign of the missing papers.

'Aha!' exclaimed Sherlock suddenly. John rushed to his side, only to find his friend clutching a plain, red ballpoint pen. It had been found on the edge of the desk, blending in with the mess. However, Sherlock's eagle eyes had spotted the bloodstains on the pen that were camouflaged by the red colouring. Sherlock bagged the pen, as he clearly thought it would shed some light on the case. John wasn't so sure, but he knew better than to question his friend.

John kept looking for the elusive paper, because Sherlock seemed convinced that the murderer had left at least one page behind. Half an hour later, his patience was rewarded, when John emerged from under the desk with a wrinkled piece of paper in his hand. Sherlock quickly searched under the desk, but no other paper could be found. Lestrade arrived moments later, and both John and Sherlock headed to the jail to talk to Anderson, who was still the only suspect for the murder.


	4. Chapter 4

'Anderson! How are you doing? Enjoying prison?' asked Sherlock as he walked into the visiting room where Anderson was waiting for them. John noticed that Sherlock practically bounced into the room. He was clearly looking forward to this interview and downgrading Anderson further.

'What are you doing here Sherlock? Don't you have someone else to annoy?' sneered Anderson, who was looking stressed and slightly worse for wear.

'As a matter of fact, Sherlock here is investigating your case, Anderson, so you better be polite, because he is the only one who can save you from a life sentence,' snapped Lestrade. He definitely wanted to get this over and done with, before he felt like killing either Anderson or Sherlock by himself.

'I would rather stay in prison than have _him_ acquit me. Why is he doing this anyway? He hates me' replied Anderson.

'As a matter of fact, I don't hate you. That would be a waste of my brain. I merely think that you are in fact, below me and not really worth my notice unless I can frustrate you in some way. I wouldn't be able to do that very easily if you were in prison, would I?' Sherlock cut in, barely hiding a grin. 'Now, you missed your morning coffee today and got minimal sleep last night, judging by the bags under your eyes and your dilated pupils. You were trying to impress someone today, look at how carefully you dressed. Your central heating is broken, but that only happened last night. Hold out your hands.'

Anderson reluctantly held out his arms for Sherlock to look at, after a commanding glare from Lestrade. Firstly, Sherlock looked at Anderson's hands, and measured the size of them against his own. Then he sniffed them, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

'Commercial soap, but no bleach' he muttered, 'now, any puncture wounds?' He inspected Anderson's arms, but didn't find anything. There were no wounds on his face or neck, and his clothes were free of rips and stains.

'Fascinating… So, when did you arrive at work today?'

'Seven. Like normal,' Anderson replied curtly.

'But you were early.' It was not a question.

'No.'

'You were. See the way your hair has dried? You washed it this morning, and it dried in an unusual place, because you were waiting outside in the wind for someone to let you in.' John looked at Sherlock astounded. How on earth did he know things like that, he wondered.

'Yes, fine. I was 5 minutes early, and Lestrade let me in when he arrived at seven. Happy?' Anderson replied, clearly not pleased that Sherlock had caught his lie.

'No, not particularly happy' replied Sherlock, which was at complete odds to his smile. 'You're going to have a better case if you tell the truth. What did you do when you arrived at work?'

'Worked.'

Sherlock turned on his heel, and started to walk out of the room.

'Lestrade,' he called after himself, 'Anderson is innocent, but I can't prove it in a way that will make the court happy unless he answers my questions. I am going to keep walking away, and then I am going to decide whether I should find some evidence that proves it was him, or something that acquits him. Which would you all prefer?'

Silence. Sherlock stormed out the doors and called a cab. John quickly followed him, to make sure that he would continue the case. Despite his hatred for Anderson, he was interested to see who had committed the murder. Sherlock's comment that Anderson was innocent was confusing him, and he wanted the answer.

'Anderson, you are a bloody idiot.' Lestrade turned on Anderson as soon as both John and Sherlock had left the room. 'Sherlock is trying to help you. You heard him, he thinks you're innocent. I don't know how he came up with that conclusion, but he is your best hope and you just blew it. I suggest you apologise to him and start begging on the ground for him to take your case back.'

'He doesn't care a thing about me' replied Anderson, 'he just wants to humiliate me and make himself look good. I didn't commit that murder, and if anyone else in the police force were as good as me, they would be able to prove that.' Lestrade stared at him with astonishment.

'Anderson, they would have to be a good sight better than you to acquit you for this murder. All the cards are against you. Even Sherlock. I suggest you think that over in prison tonight.'


	5. Chapter 5

The morgue was always cold and smelt like disinfectant. It had an unfeeling atmosphere to it, and looking around, you could easily imagine that only faceless, mechanical people worked there on bodies that came to life. That was not the case however. A short, bouncy woman came up to John and Sherlock, with a huge smile on her round face.

'Hi Sherlock, what are you doing here today?' asked a breathless Molly Hooper, who was, as always, pleased to see Sherlock.

'Ah Molly, excellent. There's been a murder, Rob Martin. I'm here to check the body. By the way, I think I left my riding crop here last week. Have you seen it?'

'Yes, it's in my office. Would you like me to fetch it for you? The body's this way. He only came in a couple of hours ago. He was quite handsome if I remember correctly.' Molly looked up at Sherlock, but if she was hoping for a jealous reaction, she was disappointed. Sherlock merely nodded and asked her to lead the way.

Rob Martin had indeed been a handsome man in life, but now his looks had been marred by severe, purple bruises.

'Well John, what do you think happened here?'

'Strangled to death, judging by the bruising around the neck.'

'Strangled by small hands though', remarked Sherlock, 'see how the marks barely go halfway around. The murderer wasn't strong either. See the faint bruising slightly higher on the neck? The murderer must have lost his grip, or been temporarily overpowered by Martin.'

'What does the hand size have to do with it?' asked John bewilderedly.

'Everything' replied his friend. 'See how my hands reach around most of the neck? Anderson's hands are even bigger than mine, so there is no way he could have strangled Martin and left those marks.'

'Could Anderson have had an accomplice?'

'It's possible. But back to the body. He was strangled from behind. The bruises show the finger marks round the front, and the thumbs are facing backwards. There are no puncture wounds and no blood. So where did the blood on the pen come from? Not him and not Anderson.' Sherlock continued to look over the body, his sharp nose just a few centimetres away. John wondered how he could stand being so close to the body. He could smell the bleach from a meter away. It would surely be far stronger by the body, especially the arm, which was where the worst of the bleach was.

'Molly, are these the clothes he was wearing when he came in?' Sherlock suddenly called out after 10 minutes of complete silence.

'Yes they are. You know we never remove clothes until all investigators have looked at the body. Why? Is something wrong with them?'

'No, nothing is wrong with them. That's the problem. There should be some cloth missing from his top, but there's not!' yelled Sherlock in frustration. John was utterly confused. How had Sherlock deduced that his clothes should be ripped? But then he remembered. Sherlock had picked up a piece of cloth in the janitor's cupboard. John had assumed it was a rag for cleaning purposes, but maybe it was clothing from…

'Sherlock, could the murderer's clothes be torn? Maybe Martin tore some of it out when he was being killed, and it was left in his hand.'

Sherlock stopped ranting and stared at John.

'Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could I have been so blind. Of course!' muttered Sherlock. There was a pause, then he said to the complete bewilderment of everyone, 'The murderer was rich.'

With that he strode out of the room, and hailed a taxi back to the flat. John stayed behind, talking to Molly. He knew that Sherlock needed some time to be alone and figure it all out. He would text John when he needed him. John grinned. This murder was turning out to be more exciting than he thought.


	6. Chapter 6

John's phone beeped. Twice. The first one was a message from Sherlock, which arrived far earlier than John had anticipated. _Come to flat. Need you to test something. Bring Lestrade's notes. -S _The other was from Lestrade, and was slightly more worrying, although it helped to explain Sherlock's text. _Tell Sherlock we can't find Martin's notes on his last case. I have the case brief for him at station though. Pick up only. Is case still on or will Anderson go to prison? Sherlock not replying_

John quickly replied, telling Lestrade that he would be there shortly and that Sherlock was definitely still working on the case. To Sherlock, he didn't bother to reply, knowing that the consulting detective would expect him to be there soon, and wouldn't bother to check his phone.

The brief of Martin's case was as straightforward as Lestrade had said. A woman had been killed, and her husband had been found with her blood under his fingernails. The gun that was used to kill her had the husband's fingerprints on it. It was like a television case, it was so simple. There was just one odd thing, and that was a small blood splatter on the wall, which didn't match either the dead woman or her husband.

John walked up the stairs of 221B Baker Street, yelling out to Sherlock as he went.

'The brief for Martin's last case are here, but Lestrade can't find Martin's notes anywhere. By the way, do you realise, that since Martin had been found at 7.30 and had been dead for 4 hours, he was killed at 3.30 in the morning. Surely that narrows down who the murderer could have been.'

'Of course I know what time Martin was killed!' Sherlock yelled back with a roll of his eyes, 'and as for those notes, I'm not surprised at all. That's what Martin was working on when he was killed, and what the murderer took with him. Except of course, for the sheet you found under the desk. Now get up here! And how heavy are you?'


	7. Chapter 7

John entered the living room to find out that Sherlock had created an obstacle course out of the furniture.

'Excellent John, you're here. You can see that I have made a replica of the path between Martin's desk and the janitor's closet. You would be about the same weight as Martin, don't you think? He's taller, but you have more muscle.' John nodded in agreement, but reminded Sherlock that dead bodies are harder to drag and seem heavier than living bodies.

'That's true John, but it doesn't matter too much for this. If you just lie down at the start, by the door, I will attempt to drag you to the end. Just to see how difficult it is.' John obediently lay down, but Sherlock had only dragged him past the second corner when he stopped. He was already breathing heavily from the exertion.

'That's enough of that' he said, 'John, you're a doctor. In you professional opinion, how difficult do you think it would it be to drag Rob Martin's body 45 odd meters?' John always felt honoured that Sherlock trusted his opinion enough to ask his advice, and he was pleased that his own dragging had stopped, so thought hard about his answer.

'Well, it was all on the flat, but there were sharp corners. It would certainly be difficult for any weight, and Martin was no pixie. You found dragging me difficult enough, so I'd say the murderer would have to be very strong, and would try to drag it as little as possible.'

'Exactly what I thought' replied Sherlock. 'So now can you explain why the murderer would drag the body 45m to the janitor's closet to hide it, when they could have dragged it 40m, using the lift, to a waiting car downstairs. This means, the body would never have been discovered and the murderer would have gotten away scot-free. Added to this, we can tell by the bruises on Martin that the murderer wasn't the strongest or the largest man.' Sherlock started pacing. 'It just doesn't make sense!'

John looked worriedly at Sherlock. He didn't normally pace during a case, sitting was more his style, so he must be completely stumped.

'Sherlock are you okay?' he asked tentatively? Sherlock didn't stop pacing, or even look at John. He just kept muttering to himself.

'40 meters, 45 meters… Why would he do it? Not to hide the body… So we would find it? That makes no sense… John, what do you think?' John started. This was also new. Sherlock always tested his own theories on John, but he rarely asked John for his own.

'Well Sherlock, I think Anderson is the guilty party. He knew that Martin was going to become a better forensic scientist than him and would probably replace him, so he killed Martin to avoid that. You say Anderson didn't kill Martin? Well I suppose Anderson didn't want to be caught, so he hired someone else to kill Martin for him, when he knew that Martin would be at the station. Anderson isn't the smartest person ever, so he decides to make the murderer hide the body in the janitor's closet. It didn't occur to him that there would be an easier and better way to hide the body. Anderson thought that to avoid suspicion, he should be the one to find the body, which he did. It might have worked, but he lied and said he found it by smelling it. He got caught and now he's going to jail. Case solved, I should think.'

Sherlock continued to frown and pace. He clearly didn't agree with John with many of the points. John knew that there were gaps in his theory, but that was what Sherlock was for: to fill the gaps.

'Doesn't that seem just too simple and convenient?' Sherlock asked.

'Sometimes it is simple' John replied, 'sometimes everything is exactly as it appears. Just because you always go for the difficult cases, it doesn't mean they all are.' Sherlock shrugged. He seemed to be considering John's point, but not really agreeing with it.

'We will see' he said, 'but can you fetch my violin? I need to think.'


	8. Chapter 8

It was a haunting melody, full of rises and falls. John had never heard it before, and assumed that Sherlock was composing it himself, and that it was following the twists and turns of his thoughts.

John stayed silent, letting his own thoughts drift, when Sherlock's voice broke him out of his reverie.

'Do you remember that liquid that was on the floor of the janitor's closet? I had it tested at the lab. Turns out it was the bleach from the bottle. Just as I thought.' There was a pause as the music reached a crescendo, which seemed to be applauding Sherlock's progress in the case.

'Lestrade thinks that the bleach was deliberately poured over the dead body by the murderer in order to remove any DNA or fingerprints he had accidently left on the body. It seems logical, don't you think?' replied John once the music had settled again.

'If Lestrade is right, how can you explain why the floor was still wet when we arrived? We know that Anderson didn't do it, because his fingerprints aren't on the bottle. It's certainly doesn't take 5 hours for bleach to dry.'

John was silent. He had nothing to counter Sherlock's point with. He decided to just let the bleach problem figure itself out and let Sherlock continue bouncing ideas off him.

'What is easier to understand, is that paper you found. Turns out you probably found the second most important paper there was. It's the fourth page of Martin's notes on that wife/husband murder case. Turns out, it's not so straightforward as everyone believes.'

'Well, that explains why Rob Martin was at work last night.'

'Indeed it does. The paper outlines that there were unexplained blood splatters on the wall. They weren't from the wife or the husband. That much is commonly known. What isn't known is that Martin had discovered whose blood splatters they were. He says on the paper that it changes the whole case. The husband is innocent.'

'And the real murderer?'

'That is unfortunately on the next page. As I say, you found the second most important one.'

'So you think that you have found a possible motive? Martin was killed because…'

'He found something that should have remained hidden. He was silenced in the most permanent and effective way.' Sherlock had interrupted John, but he didn't mind. Sherlock was the smart one that had figured it all out, and deserved all the credit he could get. Even if it was only from John.

'There's something else too. That red pen I found, Martin was using it when he died. He must have been editing his report and was going to hand it in, when morning came. There are red scribbles all over that report. Including a big 'WHY?' in the corner. He obviously had potential, this Rob Martin. It's a shame he died really.'

'So you think the red pen might be able to lead you to the murderer?'

'Hopefully. That's where I'm off to now. I need to analyse it at the morgue. There's no need for you to come. Make yourself a cup of tea or something pleasant.' The music abruptly stopped, and Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf before leaving the cosy apartment and calling a taxi. John sighed. He would have liked to listen to more of that violin. At least Sherlock was right about one thing. A cup of tea was exactly what he needed.


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock had his eye pressed to the microscope, looking at the blood sample, when he heard the noise. He sighed, just what he needed. Someone was coming in and disturbing him from his work.

'Go away. I'm busy' he called out without looking up from his work.

'Sherlock, we need to talk.' Lestrade's voice cut over Sherlock's forcing him to move away from the microscope. 'Are you, or are you not continuing with this case? I know Anderson was being unreasonable, and I have told him that. Will you continue? You said you knew who the murderer was.'

'Of course I'm continuing the case, Lestrade. I haven't had so much fun in ages. I didn't even need Anderson's statement anyway. It doesn't make a jot of difference. I got what I needed from him, and that was to look at his hands and arms. However, I would appreciate it, if you don't tell Anderson that I'm continuing his case. Let him stew awhile.' Lestrade nodded, that was fair and he was just glad that Sherlock was continuing the case. 'As to knowing who the murderer is, I never said that. What I said was that Anderson was innocent. I would know who the murderer is by now, but you interrupted me just as I was finding out.' Sherlock looked at Lestrade accusingly, and he had the grace to look guilty.

'Oh, right. I'll just let you get on with it then. But you know how you asked earlier who Martin worked for before? Well, no one. He had an offer from someone called Jim, but he turned it down and joined us. Anyway, just say if you need anything else. I'll be at the station.'

Sherlock didn't even reply. He just went back to his microscope and blood samples from the pen, considering Lestrade's words. Jim. Where had he heard that name before, and could it be connected to this murder? He shrugged, there were more pressing things at hand. The results had just come in from the blood on the pen. There was a match. _Richard Hill. Professional assassin. Wanted by police in four countries including Britain and France. Also known as Monsieur Petit. 14 assumed murders, but no evidence._

Sherlock grinned. He had a name, and all the information seemed to fit the case perfectly. Now, he just needed the man. But how had the blood gotten onto the pen in the first place? Sherlock leaned back in his chair and started to reconstruct the murder in his mind.

3.30am. Rob Martin was engrossed in his work and editing his report after a breakthrough. He didn't notice a man creep into his room, probably assuming it was a cleaner. The assassin, Richard Hill, grabbed him around the neck from behind and started strangling. Martin had been working on the page John found when he died. As an automatic reaction, he chucked it away, and it landed under the desk. Richard Hill didn't notice. Martin's second reaction was defence. He stabbed upwards at Hill's arms with the item he already held in his hand. He pierced through the skin with the red pen. That's where the blood came from. It caused Richard Hill to lose his grip. Rob continued to fight back, but the longer Hill held on, the weaker he got. Eventually the pen stopped piercing the skin. Martin died, and was dragged to the janitor's closet. But why…?

Sherlock sat up suddenly. He had an idea, but he needed several things before he could make it work. He grabbed his phone and sent John a quick text. _Case almost complete. I need to check one more thing. Don't stay up for me. I will be back late. Be ready for grand finale tomorrow. -S_


	10. Chapter 10

A man was sitting alone on a bench in Hyde Park. He was a tall man, portly, and had the beginnings of a beard. His dark glasses were out of place, considering the dull clouds that covered the sky, but his white cane suggested the glasses were there for a different purpose. The man was immaculately dressed in clothing that was very expensive and tailor-made. All in all, he made a very impressive figure, even for a blind man.

After a short while, another, much smaller man joined him on the bench. The first did not seem remotely surprised, and quickly spoke to the other.

'Dark nights are unpleasant.'

'Yes, for strangers to travel' the second man replied.

There was a short silence after this, and both men appeared to relax a little. The strange words they had spoken seemed to be a coded greeting, and allowed them to know the other was an ally.

'How can we help you?' asked the second man, 'I believe you had a business proposal for us.' The first man chuckled slightly.

'Straight to the point as ever, Mr Hill. It seems I should match you accordingly. I desire a man to be killed. He has been a nuisance to me for some time now, and I do not like nuisances. Can it be done tomorrow?' Mr Hill nodded. He was used to working on a short deadline, and this man was clearly particular. The first man continued speaking. Although he hadn't seen the nod, he obviously had expected the other man, Mr Hill to agree. 'The man I want killed, he lives at 221B Baker Street, and his name is Sherlock Holmes.'

'And the pay?' asked Mr Hill, 'I know of him. He will be a difficult target.'

'£12,000 on completion. Do not let me down, Mr Hill. I am a very hard man to cross.'

'Yes sir. Consider it done.' Mr Hill walked away, but paused as the first man called out to him.

'Oh, and Mr Hill! Make it personal.' Mr Hill grinned. That was his favourite way to kill someone, go up nice and close, and strangle them with his bare hands. Although he was small, and not the strongest, his cunning more than made up for that. This Sherlock Holmes, he thought, had better make his last day count.


	11. Chapter 11

Morning had just dawned when John woke up. He rolled out of bed and headed for the kitchen to make himself a huge cup of tea. To his surprise, he found Sherlock already up, despite having arrived home late last night, well after John had gone to bed.

'Morning Sherlock. Did you sleep at all?'

'No. I had some things to prepare, and then I was thinking. The futility of hiding the body in the closet is still annoying me. Nevertheless, I should be able to wrap up this case today.'

'That's impressive. Do you still think Anderson is innocent?' There was a knock on the door before Sherlock could answer. John opened it to find Lestrade standing on the front porch, looking as confused as John felt.

'Morning John, do you have any idea why Sherlock might have asked me to come here at such an ungodly hour? I'm hoping it means that he has figured everything out.' Sherlock heard this, and yelled back down the stairs.

'You hope wrong Lestrade. I have merely figured most things out. You are here this morning to watch me prove my theory.'

Lestrade looked pleased about this. He always liked it when a case was cleared up quickly. Unfortunately for him, Sherlock was the only person who was capable of finishing a case so quickly, and he only accepted the most interesting of them.

'Tea, Lestrade?' asked John. 'I was just making a cup for myself.' Lestrade nodded appreciatively.

'You know how much I love your tea, John. A cup would be lovely.' John bustled back to the kitchen to get the pot boiling, when he heard a strange sound coming from Sherlock's bedroom. It was like a tapping sound, but more hollow than normal. John ignored it. He was used to strange sounds coming from Sherlock's room, and assumed it was just a final experiment of his that would prove his theory.

Then John heard an inarticulate yell. Still holding the tea, he rushed into Sherlock's bedroom, and to his horror, he saw a small man trying desperately to strangle Sherlock! John acted upon his first instinct, and threw the tea all over the attacker. This gave Sherlock enough time to take a breath, before the strangling resumed again.

Lestrade then rushed into the room, drawing his gun as he went.

'Let go or I will shoot!' he yelled forcefully. The attacker just grinned, and tightened his grip. He hauled a weakening Sherlock into a different position, until he was completely hidden by him.

'Would you shoot me through your friend?' the man sneered from behind Sherlock. Lestrade faltered. John knew that he wouldn't dare fire unless he had a clear shot. But time was running for Sherlock. John had to take some action quickly. All his tea had been used up, so there was only one thing for it.

He lunged at Sherlock and his weight pulled him to the floor. This left the attacker on top and at his mercy. John punched him hard, but that only caused him to flinch and tighten his grip even more. John kept trying, punching, kicking, all with a strength that would normally knock a man unconscious, but to no avail. Sherlock started turning blue, as the fingers stayed around his neck.

'John. Move away.' Lestrade's calm voice broke through John's panic and stopped his futile and irrational behaviour. He looked up, and saw that Lestrade's gun had a clear shot of the attacker. Only John himself was blocking it. John quickly moved to the attackers head, and held him still. Lestrade took a step forward, aimed, and fired.

The fingers instantly left Sherlock's neck, and clutched the bullet hole on his leg. John rushed to Sherlock's side. He was winded, had bad bruising around his neck, but he was alive. John gave Sherlock a drink of cold water, then lay him down and placed some ice on his neck, while Lestrade restrained the attacker who was bleeding heavily.

'Right,' he said, 'I'm taking this one to the station, but we should probably get him patched up as well. Do you know if this is a random attack Sherlock? Or is it related to the case?'

'I'm sure Sherlock will tell you everything tomorrow. Right now he needs to stay silent so that his neck and vocal chords can heal. We will come down to the station at 9am. You can question that man if you like, but I think Sherlock should be able to clear all of it up for you' replied John.

The police car arrived, and Lestrade bustled the attacker into it. This left John and Sherlock alone in the flat, waiting for an ambulance.

'I'm fine John. I don't need to go to hospital' Sherlock rasped. John refused with the ease of a doctor who had had plenty of practice.

'Listen to yourself. You're so hoarse, you can barely speak. Now stay quiet, and you will be fine tomorrow. Then you can explain everything you know about Anderson, Rob Martin and that guy who just strangled you, who I'm assuming is the murderer.' Sherlock nodded, and was silent a moment, before saying slowly, 'Thank you for saving my life John. I'm sorry about your tea.'

John looked at Sherlock in bewilderment, before chuckling.

'You're most welcome. And honestly, the tea is the least of my worries. C'mon, the ambulance is here. Time to go.'


	12. Chapter 12

'Are you sure you're alright to do this?' John asked for the millionth time as he and Sherlock headed down to the station so that Sherlock could prove his brilliance and clear up the whole case.

'Of course I'm alright. It takes more than a little strangling to dampen my spirits' Sherlock replied good-naturedly. John considered this. Sherlock's voice was still raspy and his neck was covered in vicious bruising, but because John had barely ever seen him in such a buoyant mood, he decided to let the meeting take place.

'Just don't forget to take plenty of breaks and drink enough water. I don't want you going mute on me. I might actually get a few moments peace' Both John and Sherlock smiled. The good mood was catching.

They entered the building a few moments later, only to find a whole party waiting to greet them. There was Lestrade of course, about nine workers who seemed to be friends with Anderson, Sherlock's attacker from the day before and surprisingly Donovan. John ushered Sherlock to a seat, which he gratefully took. He was still rather weak.

'Only two people in this room like me,' began Sherlock slowly. 'However, because the other ten of you are friends with Anderson for some reason, perhaps you will begin to like me a little more over the next little while. I am here to tell you, that Anderson is innocent. The man who killed Rob Martin, is sitting there behind you.' After catching a meaningful glance from John, Sherlock had a sip from the glass of water that was sitting beside him. This gave everyone in the room a chance to look at the man who Sherlock had accused with a strange mixture of curiosity and hatred.

'His name,' continued Sherlock 'is Richard Hill. He is a professional assassin who was hired to kill Martin in order to silence him. The reason for this is the case Rob Martin was working on. Although it seemed like a straightforward murder, the husband had actually been framed. Rob Martin found that the real murderer was the same man who matched the blood splatter on the wall. He was writing this into his report the night he died. The murderer took all these notes, except for one page, which explained that the husband was framed. John found this piece of paper under the desk. Unfortunately, we didn't learn the name of that murderer because it was on the next page. Nevertheless, we did have the motive, which was very important in acquitting your dear colleague.' Sherlock paused again, which caused John to nod at him approvingly.

'I also found another piece of evidence on Rob Martin's desk. Somehow, you all missed a red pen, which had bloodstains on it. These bloodstains corresponded to Rob Martin's murderer, who as you now know is Richard Hill. He was hired by…' Sherlock paused and looked around, seeing mainly confused faces staring back at him. He sighed. 'Maybe I better start from the beginning.'

'John and I thought that hiding the body in the janitor's closet was odd. Richard Hill had to drag the body further to get to that closet, than it would have to drag the body to a waiting car outside. This led me to believe that the body was meant to be found, and that I was supposed to get involved to help you all solve the case. This was reinforced with evidence I found later. Therefore, another step closer to our murderer, or as it happened, the person who hired the murderer. From this we knew that he was someone who enjoyed a game, and was part of a crime syndicate large enough that there was little risk to his anonymity.'

'That all seems slightly far fetched, Sherlock' called Donovan suddenly, cutting Sherlock off. 'There is a much likelier theory than that you were _supposed_ to get involved.' Sherlock cocked his head at her and raised one eyebrow in scepticism. Donovan seemed to take this as a sign to continue. 'Well, you all know that the body was found with bleach on it. I assume that the murderer dragged the body to the janitor's cupboard so that he could pour the bleach onto it and thereby remove any evidence. Then, he simply ran out of time, or thought someone was coming, and left before he had time to drag it down the lift and escape.'

Sherlock tried to laugh, but it got caught in is injured throat. 'Donovan, I suggest you think before you speak. First of all, wouldn't it have made more sense for the murderer to simply fetch a bottle of bleach and then pour it over Rob Martin while he was still in his office? Save himself a bit of time and effort.' Donovan shifted uncomfortably. 'Second of all, the floor was still wet when I arrived, a good five or six hours after the murder was committed. Now, maybe you have never-drying bleach here, but I doubt it. What I think happened, is that the lid of the bleach hadn't been put on properly. In the confusion after Martin's body was found, it was knocked over. The bleach went all over Martin and the floor accidently. The person who did it probably picked it up and replaced it without thinking, which is a natural reaction. The bleach is, I believe what they call, a red herring.' He grinned insolently at Donovan. 'At least you tried.'

'Another piece of evidence, besides the bleach, that I found in the janitor's closet was a piece of cloth that had been ripped off the murderer's clothing. Due to the good quality of it, I deduced that the murderer was rich. The best way for an assassin to get rich, is by being very successful, and getting employed by very wealthy people who can afford to pay his fees. Another way is to be available for use by large crime syndicates. So far, all the evidence is matching up.'

'Next, I analysed the blood on the pen and found the name of the murderer. However, there was still the problem of finding and arresting him, because he was sure to be protected by the influential people he worked for. I decided that the best way to get to Richard Hill was through those very people.'

Sherlock was interrupted again, this time by Lestrade. 'That's all very well, but how did you find out who hired Hill?'

'You gave me the clue yourself. When I asked who had employed Martin before, you said no one. No one, but he had turned down an offer from someone called Jim. This struck me as suspicious. Why would someone with his non-existent level of experience turn down a job? Only if it went against their morals. As to the name Jim, I had heard it before in unsavoury circles. If you think back to the serial-killer cabby who murdered people with the pills, he was employed by someone called Jim Moriarty. Not only have I since found out that he is the head of the largest crime syndicate in England, he is also extremely intelligent and has been after me before.' Sherlock rubbed his neck and grinned at everyone. He was clearly pleased by the impressed reaction his tale was receiving.

'It was not difficult to find this syndicate, and luckily I had the knowledge that would allow me to get in. I previously learnt the code words, which identified me as someone sympathetic to the cause. The day before yesterday, I disguised myself as a rich, blind man, and said I needed Richard Hill to assassinate someone for me. I arranged a meeting, and told him I required Sherlock Holmes to be murdered the next day, that being yesterday. I then had Lestrade and John present for my own attempted murder, so that they could bear witness and assist in capturing the man. Unfortunately, I misjudged his strength, was overpowered and would have died if not for the help of my colleagues. Nevertheless, we were able to capture him, and he is only waiting for a short trial before being locked up for life. Any questions?'

There was a stunned silence after Sherlock's speech, as they tried to understand just how Sherlock had managed to figure all this out so quickly and accurately.

'No? Excellent. Time to go and fill Anderson in on everything he missed. This is sure to be entertaining.' He walked away with John and Lestrade in tow, leaving everyone else staring after him. John looked back and waved patronisingly. He was looking forward to seeing Anderson, just as much as Sherlock.


	13. Chapter 13

Anderson had changed dramatically in the few days he had been in prison. Somehow he seemed smaller. He was certainly less sure of himself, and this showed in his bearing and the way he almost looked pleased when he saw Sherlock. Of course, he immediately tried to hide this, so as soon as he spoke, it was like he had never changed at all.

'Here to taunt me, are you Sherlock? Here to show off how brave and clever you are? Here to tell me that you have proved my guilt?'

'Yes. Yes. No. How typical of you Anderson, to get the most important things wrong' replied Sherlock cheerily. 'I have found the real murderer, arrested him, and now I am personally releasing you from you prison.' Anderson looked suspiciously at Sherlock. He clearly expected a trick, or a catch that left him in Sherlock's debt for a long time.

'Rubbish.'

Luckily, Lestrade stepped in. 'It's true Anderson. He has managed to acquit you, so now you better be grateful or I will be tempted to keep you in that cell for a few more days.' Anderson glared at Lestrade.

'Thank you _so_ much Sherlock. I just don't know where I would be without you' said Anderson insincerely and patronisingly. Sherlock acknowledged this with an equally insolent inclination of his head.

'Before you leave, I just have one question for you Anderson. Why did you say you found the body by smelling the decomposition of it? It is blindingly obvious that was not the case. It really only made you look more guilty' asked Sherlock.

'If you're so smart, you should be able to figure that out' replied Anderson.

'I did. What really happened is that you spilt your morning coffee over the passenger seat in your car. You headed to the janitor's closet to grab some items to clean it up. Turns out, you found the body instead. I just don't know why you lied about it.' Anderson narrowed his eyes.

'Correct. I said I smelt the body, because I…'

'Tell the truth, Anderson' warned Lestrade suddenly, interrupting his explanation. This caused Anderson to pause, as he rethought what he was about to say.

'I said I smelt the body because I didn't want people to know I had spilt my coffee, and also because I wanted to impress them with my detective skills. You know, using all your senses and stuff.' Sherlock nodded. This was similar to what he had been thinking, he just wanted Anderson to admit it.

'I have a question for you now, Sherlock' continued Anderson, 'how did you know that my central heating was broken? Everything else that you deducted at my interview, you explained. But not this.'

'It was a matter of simplicity itself Anderson. I observed your clothing. You had dressed carefully, because you were trying to impress someone. However, you had dressed very warmly, but it wasn't a mistake because of the care you had taken. Therefore, I deduced that your central heating was broken, causing you to think it was colder than it actually was. If your central heating had broken a couple of days ago, you would have learnt that it wasn't necessary to dress so warmly, because the temperature was higher at work. See? Simple.'

Anderson was staring at Sherlock in shock. He was amazed by his abilities, but didn't want to admit it to himself. Sherlock noticed this, and laughed. 'Enjoy freedom Anderson. Just remember that you're in my debt.'

Sherlock swept out of the room. John gave Anderson an amused nod and followed him. There were no parting words that he needed to say. Sherlock had put Anderson in his place quite nicely. Even Lestrade seemed to appreciate it, as he stared after Sherlock approvingly.

'See you both soon, John' he said, 'we need to catch this Jim Moriarty.'

'It would be our pleasure,' he replied, before following Sherlock back to the flat for a celebratory dinner.


	14. Chapter 14

_**This is it guys! The last chapter! Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing. I never imagined that my first fanfic would be so successful! I promise I will try and write some more after my exams are over. So in this chapter, there isn't any huge plot twist. It just rounds it all off and hopefully leaves you with a nice warm fuzzy feeling (: xxx**_

* * *

It had been a good meal. Simple, yet homely. Mrs Hudson had joined them, but now she had retired back to her rooms upstairs. John and Sherlock settled down to talk about the case, as was their custom.

'How's the neck?'

'Feels as though someone was trying to do a tap dance on it. Still, it shouldn't take too long to heal, there's no permanent damage.' John nodded thoughtfully. He was surprised how well Sherlock had been looking after himself that day, and commented so. He was even more surprised when he received Sherlock's answer.

'Well, I could hardly do any different with my very own doctor watching over me.' He grinned to show it was said with good intent. 'Still it was a good case.'

'Are you glad you acquitted Anderson?' asked John, who still thought it was a shame that the forensic scientist had gotten off scot-free.

'Well I had to serve justice, now, didn't I?' John just raised one eyebrow at Sherlock. He had never been concerned about justice.

'But really, are you?'

After some thought, Sherlock replied. 'Yes, actually. Anderson owes me now, and that should make everyone's life a little easier. This case also put Lestrade in my corner, so I should be able to get away with more. Besides, Anderson doesn't really deserve prison. Maybe a straightjacket, but not prison. He has been punished enough, if you think about it. He won't enjoy being in my debt.'

John silently agreed with Sherlock, and was glad that the world's only consulting detective had reached the same conclusion. He thought back over the last few days, and smiled. Revenge, he thought, is sweet.


End file.
